Frog Prince
by helvengurl
Summary: Because everyone knows Murtagh's a frog prince. MurtaghxAngela. Oneshot.


You hate dancing. It doesn't suit you. Thorn laughs at you because he says you're glowering. You shut him out. You don't want to listen to him right now. They all vacate the corner you stand in. You scowl. They won't listen no matter what you say.

She comes dancing around, a cat perching on her head and lacking all the proper attire for an event like the one she's blissfully twirling through. You want to glower at her too, just for the insanity of her, but somehow you end up smirking. You don't know why.

She's grabbing your wrist. You're protesting. She might be a woman, but she's twirling you both around the room (all while keeping that cat balancing neatly on her head). She tells you, you should smile more. You can't resist pointing out all the plethora of reasons why you smile just the right amount.

She just laughs.

You scowl a little more.

* * *

She's persistent, you're learning quickly. You've informed her that when you say you're tired, that you're going to your room _alone_. Sometimes her babbling is too much. Sometimes it's just the right amount. It fills up the silence you're so used to.

She tells you less about smiling more. Are you smiling enough to suit her? Why do you care? Thorn usually says something that you wouldn't even consider saying to Eragon and Trianna (although the thoughts crossed your mind once or twice). Something in a singsong voice is usual. It rhymes if he's put some thought into it.

You're starting to tell her she should talk less and be quiet more, but she laughs again.

Maybe this time you crack a smile and roll your eyes. You don't know, really. All you know is her laugh is beautiful and warm.

It makes you feel a little happy.

* * *

She's not shutting up about frogs and toads today. You're telling her it's okay not to fight people on the subject. She gives you a hurt glance and you start feeling bad.

She follows you to your room again. It's annoying you, but you don't say anything. She waits until you turn around and look at her. She starts to rant. She's saying it's the principle that people condemn something that doesn't deserve it. Just like you, she says.

You stop breathing for a second. People don't say that to you. She's storming out. You want to grab her and say thank you. You want to say it's okay if people don't like you, because her liking you is enough.

But your throat is clogging up.

Thorn says he's sick of being subtle. You're thinking, _subtle how? _but don't say it.

He says it's a clear declaration of love.

You're dubious.

But you smile at the thought it might be true.

* * *

You ask her bluntly if she really likes you. She's blinking as though you're the stupidest thing she's seen. Thorn chimes in with the obvious, _probably are._ You're thinking it'd be nice to shut him up once in a while.

You're also wondering how in the hell you got all the chatterboxes in the kingdom.

She gives you a look, but doesn't say anything.

You know by the look that it's a yes.

You're both talking without words.

It's a beautiful thing.

You smile to reassure her it's all right.

* * *

It's been years since she's told you last to smile more. You're realizing its okay to love her and not need to tell her explicitly. Just being around her is beautiful. She's filling you up.

You know you two look like Eragon and Trianna now. You're waiting for him to laugh at you like you've been laughing at him. You realize you don't care even if he does.

It's okay to smile stupidly at a woman like Angela.

* * *

She's crying. She's worrying about her 'muchness level'. Does she have enough? Does she have too much? She's pacing, and you're oddly worrying too.

You're wondering what in the hell muchness is, and how it could be so important that she's crying over it. You don't know what she's worrying about in the slightest terms, but you know you can't keep sitting here and watching her. It's making you restless and angry and sad.

You stand up, catch her as she goes by, and hug her. You're mumbling, _'it's all perfect Angela.'_ You give her a soft kiss on the forehead and keep on holding her close. You know after this, the feel of her against you, you won't let her go again.

It's been a long time since you last talked without words, but you're doing it again.

You decide this is the best conversation you've ever had; a conversation of arms and warmth and comfort.

* * *

She's driving you insane. Each time you try to hold her, she flits away. Last time she ran from the castle and went missing for two years. The silence was unbearable.

She came back and you didn't try to hold her again. You want the feel of her against you so bad; you taste it in the air around her.

You can't help it. You slip into her little room of herbs and as soon as she turns her back, you're hugging her. She's blushing. She's pushing you away and saying something loud. You don't pay attention. Your arms are still warm from her.

* * *

You're standing in the doorway. You know she's trying to leave. You won't let her this time.

She's bustling around the corner, her usual mess of curls and jangling things swirling like a torpedo down the hall. You've realized that you can't go on forever and never let her know.

You can't bear the silence for another long stretch of time. It leaves you to mull over the fact that you aren't telling her.

You know it's not the perfect way. You know it's not the most romantic. You know that she's going to slap you. You know you're blending in with the shadows. You grab her as she goes by. You don't say it loudly, but it's quiet in the hall now that she's stopped, but you know she can hear you, _I love you._

Her lips are soft against yours. You don't pull her close. She's on her way somewhere. You don't want to hold her here.

But you can't help hoping, as you tell her _don't let another man do that to you _that she might just stay.

* * *

She still left. You should've known. Still, you can't help but wish she hadn't. You know it's wrong to want to take precedence over everything in her life, but you know it's like that for you.

The moment Angela enters your head, everything else disappears. She's your princess, although she'd hate the term.

She told you long ago she was a werecat. Solembum was her brother. You're jealous he's gotten to know her for so long, and it's only been a measly fifty years for you.

It'd be a lifetime for others.

But not enough for you.

* * *

You wake up; you never were able to do the half-sleep thing like Eragon. Something warm is pressed against you. You look down to see her, looking up at you, an annoyed expression on her face. She's mad you sleep so soundly.

You're mad she left for three years.

You match her expression. She smiles and closes her eyes a minute, and then shakes her head. Out pop cat ears and whiskers. She knows you can't stay mad at her when she looks like that.

You kiss her.

This time, she returns it with hesitancy.

But she's just kissing you back.

You're _ecstatic._

* * *

Again her warm body is pressed against yours. She giggles and her smell is distracting. You kiss her shoulder. You don't know what happened. Maybe the beer made you both a little looser than normal.

You don't care.

It was an amazing night. Her, she's completely yours now. She knows now she's not ever escaping.

That's all you ever wanted.

She's started calling you 'Frog Prince'. It's better than traitor. Somehow it's getting around the castle. Eragon's sniggering at it.

You know he's got a more embarrassing nickname. He has to.

You bide your time. The curse of embarrassing pet names will rear its ugly head. Thorn says to move on. Thorn says he'll spread a rumor that will singe Eragon's backside. You can't wait. You might be Frog Prince, but Eragon's is undoubtedly worse.

* * *

You can't believe it. Did Thorn talk to Angela? Or Trianna?

All you can say, is 'Flufflesnorts' is way worse than 'Frog Prince'

You're _never _going to stop laughing at that.

* * *

Her belly is bulging.

You two really should be married by now, but why start to do things by the book now? Since when would Angela even care? You're both happy. Excited beyond words.

She craves jam and you've had to learn your way around herbs. She makes you make her chocolate mint tea with steivia. It's sickly sweet. You don't know how she drinks it.

She wants to name the child River Mountain if it's a girl, Cane Barblesnickle if it's a boy. You're fine with the first names. The middle ones- not so much. You've suggested Tania for the middle name for the girl. River Tania. You can live with that.

As for the boy, anything's better than Barblesnickle.

You decide on River Tania and Cane Nodal.

The names are growing on you.

* * *

_Twins! Twins!_ A boy _and _a girl!

River Tania and Cane Nodal.

The names are perfect. Just like the pudgy faces. Just like being called 'Father'. Eragon screws up his face at the names. Angela lectures him on being a teacup. You're inclined to agree. You should punch him. You know you should. But right now, your arms are full of babies.

And your head's a little full of _Angela_.


End file.
